Filthy Rags

Be still,”
I scream at life’s crashing storms
and command the sea
to give such lashings no more.

My five-thousand I feed
from solicited funds,
and have the family recipe
for turning water into wine.

I’ve found the sure cure
for leprosy
and common intemperance
and offer management remedies
for demon possession.

All this, the while
I’m stooping so low
as to write my own peculiar message
in the dust of my righteousness,
and His only response is,
“Father, forgive.”



2 thoughts on “Filthy Rags

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